


A Rush of Blood

by Chexie



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chexie/pseuds/Chexie
Summary: In a makeshift grave you'd found in your local park, you'd found a small box next to the dismembered pieces of a decaying corpse.Inside the box were six unused bullets and several pieces of folded up scrap paper, recounting the tale of a young woman who had murdered someone else for little reason more than to know what it would've been like to kill someone.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	A Rush of Blood

Hi there, whoever finds this. 

Now, this may be a bit… weird, to explain. But, consider this an intimate experience between you and I. I mean, I might never, ever meet you- I might not even be alive when you find this, but you’ll be the only person who knows what really happened.

Doesn’t that seem special to you?

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

Well, no, that’s a silly question. I feel like everyone has wanted to, at some point or another. Though, maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’re proof that humanity hasn’t completely fallen yet. I don’t know, but, I think I can guess. 

So, if this letter is still where I left it, you probably met Jason by now. I’m not sure how long he’s been underground. Maybe he still reeks of rotten flesh, but maybe he’s nothing but bones now. Maybe he’s missing some pieces by now. I wouldn’t know. 

Jason Dean. That’s his name, but not a lot of people used it, as far as I knew. To me, and I’m sure many others, he was just JD. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, even two letters can make someone’s spine tingle with fear, you know?

Jason, to say the least, wasn’t a good person. I had a best friend, and Jason got rid of her. I had a boyfriend, and Jason got rid of him and his best friend, too. My new best friend told me he had planned to get rid of my other friend on top of it. That’s why I chose not to blame myself for my actions. He had already untied the knot.

September 30th, 1989. 

How far away was that day from now, No-Named Stranger?

That was the day that, legally speaking, Jason Dean had died. I remember it, even if I didn’t know the story behind it until months had passed. I was just in the gym like everyone else, a pep rally for an upcoming football game- that’s what was happening. Apparently, I could’ve died that day. All of us could have. He’d tried to blow us up and I had no idea. 

But supposedly, -now, I don’t know why of course- he had decided to blow himself up instead, right at the drop off in front of the school. 

So, for a while, I was able to tell myself that the red smear at the bottom of the steps was Jason Dean. For a while, everything was normal, as normal as you could get here, anyway.

But then I found him alive, found myself in the position of taking care of him. Allowing him to use my shower, bringing him food, things like that. I feel bad, honestly, even letting him consider my home a place to hide. He wasn’t there all the time, but in a way that was scarier. I couldn’t keep tabs on him, I couldn’t tell if he was out and about, blood on his hands.

To this day, I never knew what he got up to.

I think there’s a small part of me that I’m really disgusted with- there was a part of me that began growing attached to him, as sad as it was. Not that that attachment would ever be reciprocated, his heart already belonged to someone. My best friend- the one that’s alive, that is. 

Though, saying that she held his heart is kind of an understatement, if I’m being honest. He was obsessed with her, always watching, always waiting. I’m kind of scared about how things would escalate if I didn’t step in when I did. I mean, we could just be a group of friends going out to rent some movies one day, and then have to file a missing persons report the next, you know?

I don’t think she ever knew that Jason didn’t die the way she thought, and that thought makes me a bit happy. I don’t think I want her to know what happened. Not then, not now. 

I think I decided that he should’ve died…. No, now that I think about it, I don’t really know when exactly. I know it wasn’t a spur of the moment kill. As messed up as it might sound, I don’t think I would’ve killed anyone in the heat of the moment. Not on purpose, anyway. I think, deep down, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to kill someone.

I think that curiosity only flared up after my friend was killed.

Maybe, one day, it just clicked in my head that I could settle that curiosity and end my paranoia in one night. 

The night I decided to kill Jason wasn’t much different from his usual nights of touch and go. He stopped by for a shower because, in his own words, his hair was getting greasy enough that he’d been scratching his scalp clean off. This, in and of itself, was as if God himself had given me permission.

That night I had asked him if I could do his laundry for him. While he was sceptical, he eventually caved. I think I would’ve asked even without the ulterior motive, his clothes were disgusting at this point. You’d think that he’d bother to at least have more than one outfit in rotation, but I suppose not. 

I found myself beyond lucky that night, as I emptied the pockets of his trenchcoat, exactly what I was worried about was hiding right there. A hand gun- don’t know what kind, exactly, and it's not like it mattered. As his clothes tumbled away in the washer, I stared at the weapon in my hands. I think if I planned to kill myself along with him, I would’ve just used that. 

I couldn’t though. I wouldn’t let Jason Dean claim another life, regardless of whether or not he actually pulled the trigger. My desk was already equipped for the end of Jason’s life. A knife from the kitchen and a saw from the garage were waiting peacefully, alongside what ended up being way too many hand towels from the nearest Walmart.

I emptied out the gun, not throwing out its rounds, but pocketing them. I put them in the same box as this note, so, do with them what you will, No-Named Stranger. 

The rest of it is kind of blurry- after his shower he got changed into his now clean clothes, and came into my room, looking for me. I don’t know what else he had needed, but I’ll never know, now. I stood behind the door, waiting for him to step foot on my rug, and the second he did, I clung to his back, knife sinking into his flesh. 

He screamed- I remember that very clearly. It was a scream I think might be seared in my mind until I die. He called me a bitch, I think. The more I think about the exact moment, the fuzzier it is. He shoved me away with his elbow, that I know- my core still hurts. He pulled out his gun, ready to shoot me down, but got nothing.

That moment of confusion was all I needed.

It let me pull him to the ground, and stab, again and again and again. There was a point where he stopped struggling, but I didn’t stop. He was smart. If it could mean he’d be able to see the girl he loved again, he’d play dead like a fucking possum. 

I was hyperventilating by the time I declared myself done, but I knew that making sure he was dead was only the first step of the night.

Carefully, I laid him out across the carpet, bringing hand towels next to his corpse, I began slowly sawing off his limbs and head, tying off the bleeding stubs with a couple towels each. Every piece of him was dropped out my window, into the bushes to hide in until I was able to bring each and every one to a pit I dug in a forest next to a nearby park. 

Is that where you are now, No-Named Stranger? 

All I have left to do now is put this little box with his body. Then, I think I can say that this experience will be complete.

It’s nice though. I’ve killed someone and there probably won’t be any repercussions. My friends won’t know, Jason didn’t have anyone in his life that would have known or cared. In a way, that’s sad, but it helps me. 

Oh. Now that I think about it, I never introduced myself, did I?

Hello, No-Named Stranger. My name is Heather McNamara.

Thanks for listening.


End file.
